


four seasons: winter

by kocuria



Series: the Winter drabbles [9]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Lights, Crafts, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, Fluff, Ice Skating, Knitting, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nostalgia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Scrabble, Sharing a Body, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Team as Family, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Winter, no lifestyle bloggers were harmed in the making of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28161090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocuria/pseuds/kocuria
Summary: No, this endeavor requires all hands on deck - or, all hands on yarn, as it happens. The gift for Steve’s got to beperfect,and how can he pick the perfect yarn if he doesn’t test it himself?-Winter learns all about the schmoopy snowy stuff.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Winter, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov & Winter, Steve Rogers & Winter
Series: the Winter drabbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805338
Comments: 88
Kudos: 149





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact, I’m an absolute grinch, disliking winter and everything Christmassy. BUT - and I got vox to thank for helping me realize this before I could fall right into a complete identity crisis - that doesn’t mean that Winter has to be a grinch. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’d find a great many things to enjoy this season.
> 
> Yes, this is a Christmas fic. I got nothing to say for myself. Number of chapters is an approximation, but let’s just say my plot bunny list for this one is. **Long**. I’m even listening to a [Christmas music playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0vFgXZgbB2dzx2HMCbYrPD?si=Nyu9jS1MSZC8B4wUZLyEsg) as I’m writing it, to the horror and disbelief of all my friends. The things I’d do for Winter, really...
> 
> I’m a lifelong crafter extraordinaire, and the views of the characters absolutely _do_ reflect my own 😉  
>   
> The author has no experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder whatsoever (way too much with other fun mental stuff though).  
> You can find the series timeline [HERE!](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/637890812746891264/timeline-for-the-winter-drabbles-series)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kocuria)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it’s Winter POV, assume all dialogue happens in Russian even though it’s not italicized. That’s how they roll, the spy-sassins.
> 
> котенок [kotyonok] = Russian for kitten

13 November 2014

Natalia is Winter’s _favorite_ person in the whole _world._

Well, okay, no - that’s probably Steve… most of the time, anyway. 

Right now, though? Natalia, hands down.

Winter looks around himself in wonder. He wouldn’t’ve been able to find the shop without the Spiderling’s guidance - tucked away in a side alley, the only thing marking it are the carefully calligraphed words on the window pane, ‘Do Your Worsted’ in English and Russian.

The place is tiny without feeling cramped, and has obviously been well-loved for years. The air smells of strong black tea and some sort of incense. At least ten different, mismatched lamps illuminate every nook and cranny with warm light, and it somehow makes him feel at home - as if he was safely ensconced in his favorite armchair, not in a completely new to him, unexplored space, with the photostatic veil buzzing faintly against his face.

Most importantly, the walls are lined with rows and rows of colorful yarns, stacked neatly on the shelves and artfully spilling out of the wicker baskets set here and there on small coffee tables, along with vases full of obviously artisanal knitting needles. There seems to be no order to any of it, none that Winter can discern - though his experience in the matter is admittedly almost non-existent. The place is in a state of controlled chaos in a way that puts him at ease, completely unlike the impersonal order of the big box store that sent him careening towards a panic attack almost as soon as they entered it. 

(Fortunately, Natalia noticed the way he tensed up and guided him right back out of there, then plied him with peppermint hot chocolate until he became somewhat verbal again. She asked if he wanted to call it a day and take care of this particular errand another day - or maybe just do it online - but he shook his head vehemently before she even finished speaking. No. No, this endeavor requires all hands on deck - or, all hands on yarn, as it happens. The gift for Steve’s got to be _perfect,_ and how can he pick the perfect yarn if he doesn’t test it himself? He and Natalia are the only ones in the world with skin even remotely as sensitive as Steve’s, thanks to the serum running through them, bastardized and diluted as it is. No, it _has to_ be done in person.)

A lady sat in the comfortable armchair in the corner smiles at them toothily, seeing their attention finally focus on her. She’s tiny and Winter can’t even begin to try to determine her age, but he guesses that the loving care that this place radiates is all her doing.

“You brought a friend, 'Tashenka,” she says in Russian, not getting up.

Natalia touches Winter’s lower back for a second, looking up at him with question in her eyes, and he smiles. _Yes, I’m good. Go ahead._ She beams at him, pride obvious on her face.

He preens, which makes her smile even wider.

She takes off her coat and throws it carelessly on the sofa adjacent to the armchair occupied by the lady, then comes to crouch next to her, cradling one of the wrinkled hands in two smooth ones.

“You know I wouldn’t bring just _anyone_ here, Olga. We’re here on a mission,” Natalia answers with a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Ah, unless the mission is helping this strapping young man find a perfect skein…” Olga drifts off, eyes sharp, and Winter suddenly becomes aware of just how strategically placed her armchair is. The sofa forms an obstacle between the woman and whoever enters the shop; there’s a door right behind her, presumably leading to the back room with another exit; a side table, within easy reach, ostensibly holds only a modern-looking register - but it has a few discreet drawers that could contain _anything,_ really.

Come to think of it, the knitting needles resting in Olga’s lap - inches away from the Spiderling's face - are metal and look very pointy, too, innocently tangled in an intricate web of creamy, gossamer-thin yarn.

He feels a momentary pang of unease, seeing the vulnerable position Natalia’s putting herself in, but Olga’s face shows nothing but warm, orange fondness, and Natalia’s body language is open the way it only ever really is with Clint or Winter. He forces himself to relax. He’s got to trust that she knows what she’s doing.

“He needs something absolutely special for his love,” Natalia confirms, getting up and winking at Winter over her shoulder. Winter scowls at her, but it’s playful and they both know it. “We stopped by Michaels first” - Olga looks supremely offended at that - “yes, I know, but it’s the _American_ thing to do, don’t tell me it’s not. It… wasn’t a good fit,” she finishes, and Olga looks at him with something like sympathy, obviously taking in his coiled posture.

“Well, of course it wasn’t, those places don’t have a _soul,_ no wonder you didn’t like it…” she drifts off expectantly.

“Yasha,” Winter offers, cringing a little inside. It’s the name they’ve been using when out and about. Lying to this woman feels _icky,_ for some reason, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. Natalia tilts her head just a little bit, thinking - so exactly like him that it makes something warm and happy unfurl in his chest - then nods a little. Approving. He breathes a little easier.

“Yasha,” Olga says with a wide smile, sitting back in her chair and taking her knitting up, needles starting to fly seemingly of their own accord. “Very well. There’s a samovar behind you, котенок-”

Natalia bursts in peals of delighted laughter when Winter startles, but when Olga throws her a questioning glance, she just shakes her head and motions for the woman to continue.

“There’s a tap at the side, you need to take the cups-” Olga starts again, but Winter nods quickly.

“I know how to use it,” he says, quiet but confident, and something much softer and fonder plays on Olga’s face.

“Very well. Fix us some tea, then, and you can tell me more about this love of yours. You’ve come to the right place.”


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve knows step one of the Great Christmas Extravaganza of 2014 has to be their home. That’s where they feel safe, Bucky and Winter, that’s where they spend the bulk of their time - so that’s what’s going to matter most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plan for this thing is... well, there's no plan, other than I want to shamelessly schmoop the hell out of them, then connect with _at arm's length_ that starts around mid-January.  
> How long that will take? Your guess is as good as mine 😂 but I'm definitely not limiting myself to 'need to finish this before Christmas'. You're stuck with the schmoop for the foreseeable future 😉 I kinda owe you that before we launch into the next story arc, don't I.  
> (How did a drabble series grow story arcs. What is happening.)

17-23 November 2014

Steve never really _got_ how Christmas nowadays seems to last two months. It’s like after Halloween a switch flips and, suddenly: holiday songs! Decorations! Season specials in every coffee shop and restaurant! It felt like too much, those three years he got to experience it so far. Completely excessive, the way so many things were now.

Then Bucky came back, and Winter with him, and suddenly Steve _understood._ There are so very many things he wants to do, to experience, to _show,_ that limiting them to just the week around winter holidays seems impossible.

So he doesn’t. If there’s one thing his stint in the ice taught him, it’s that waiting for a perfect moment to Do The Thing means that you might end up not getting to do it at all. When he mentions it, there’s a quiet moment as the rumpled Avengers & Co gathered around the breakfast table seem to lose themselves in their own thoughts for a while - but then a coffee maker beeps and Clint jumps to claim his prize, and the tension breaks. Suddenly Steve realizes that every one of them had ample opportunity to learn this lesson the hard way - that things are fleeting and you never know when another alien invasion or just plain human stupidity is going to change your life completely. As much as Natasha grumbles, as much as Bruce and Tony pretend to be completely indifferent - Steve knows they secretly enjoy the way Steve sets out to make it a holiday to remember.

He knows step one of the Great Christmas Extravaganza of 2014 has to be their home. That’s where they feel safe, Bucky and Winter, that’s where they spend the bulk of their time - so that’s what’s going to matter most.

(He loves when Bucky splays all over his lap, watching a TV series, chattering at Steve and texting Nat at the same time, a whirlwind of joyful energy that Steve can’t help but be swept up by. It’s the way he’s always been, never still, never quiet - be it 1927 or 1937 or now, in this new century that provides Bucky with more distractions than ever before.

He loves, too, the quiet evenings when Winter’s completely cocooned in his blankets, a look of absolute concentration on his face when he tries to work around the fact that his metal fingers work a little different than the flesh ones, in turns snagging the yarn he’s trying to knit with, and letting it slip too loose.

Steve’s long since let go of any guilt about loving both of them equally. Even if Bucky was first, even if the way he feels about Winter is so completely different… he can’t have one without the other.

He doesn’t _want_ to.)

As overwhelming as it sometimes feels to have so many options for every single little thing - a whole aisle for just milk, _what_ \- when it comes to this, the holidays, he’s glad. He throws himself into research with fervor usually reserved only for mission prep, his sketchbooks filling with lists of things he wants to make happen. He tries to keep his plans a secret - making sure to clear his browser history in case someone grabs his tablet by accident, ordering all his supplies addressed to Bruces’s apartment instead of theirs, putting stuff together when Bucky and Winter aren’t home.

If he enlists Peter and Nat’s help keeping them out of his hair at some specific moments, well - they don’t seem to mind, any of them.

He’s nervous now, though. It feels so important, somehow, for all of this to come together exactly _right,_ for things to be _perfect._ After 70 years of hell, he wants to give them the world, now that he can. 

So… okay, he might’ve gone a tiny little bit overboard, he realizes just before they come home and the living room looks like an overzealous lifestyle blogger threw up all over it. He almost wants to backtrack, but then it’s too late, the elevator dings and Winter gets off, giggling at some joke Nat throws before the door closes behind him.

“Steve?” he calls, obviously confused by the way all the lights are off. It’s not a problem for either of them, ambient light from the city outside more than enough for enhanced senses, but given that JARVIS controls all the lights in the Tower, entering a dark room is not something that happens… ever, really.

“In here,” Steve answers from the center of the room, trying not to sound apprehensive. Winter’s going to pick up on that and worry, and that’s not what tonight is supposed to be about.

“What’s with the lights?” Winter asks, and Steve can see him toeing off his shoes and taking off his red peacoat. He’s still a little breathless with laughter, and Steve’s heart is suddenly going double-time.

“I… kinda have a surprise for you?” he says, and watches open curiosity play on Winter’s face. He suddenly remembers another time when they stood in this exact spot, Winter covered in blood and ready to bolt, Steve racking his brains for anything, _anything_ that would make him feel safe.

He obviously feels safe now, even in the dark. However rocky their beginnings, Steve obviously managed to do _something_ right.

_Focus, Rogers._

“Can you come here, please?” Steve adds, belatedly, when Winter just stands by the elevator and waits him out. Bucky would’ve thrown a hundred questions at him by now, but Winter’s nothing if not patient.

Steve fiddles nervously with his phone, watching Winter cross the room to him gracefully. He’s synced everything to an app JARVIS recommended, and he _really_ hopes it works.

He unlocks the phone and touches one of the sliders. The first set of lights slowly comes to life, barely-there, then brighter and brighter, sneaking around the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Winter makes a move to look closer, but Steve activates the next set - on the wall with the TV - and then the other ones, on the bar separating the kitchen from the living room, framing the corridor leading to the bedrooms, woven through the plants surrounding Winter’s armchair. 

Winter spins slowly, tracking the progression of white-yellow-orange-red through the room, eyes wide, then turns back to Steve. The lights make him look even softer than usual, the dispersed glow leaving no shadows. His eyes sparkle.

“This- Steve, it’s-” he starts, but Steve’s got one more slider left, and it stops whatever Winter’s trying to say.

The final set of lights, white again, trails around the pictures on one of the walls - a mix of photographs from before the war, Steve’s drawings, and modern shots of their new family, goofy selfies and more professional shots by Peter. They’ve been adding to it almost every week, in an attempt to ground themselves in this unlikely future they found themselves in.

Winter comes closer to touch them softly, and the lights make the plates of his left hand glitter merrily. He says nothing for the longest time, and Steve worries at his lower lip.

“Is it too much?” he finally breaks. “I made sure none of them blink and we can control the brightness, but if it’s too much we can take some of them off-”

“Steve.”

“... yes?”

“Is there more?” Winter asks, matter-of-fact.

“More?” Steve repeats, stupefied.

“More lights,” Winter specifies.

“Um- yes? Yes, I might’ve bought too much?”

“You always do!” Winter suddenly laughs, sounding fond.

Okay. He’s laughing. Okay, so he _likes_ it. Okay.

“Hey!” Steve protests, but it’s just for show. He loves spoiling them, it’s not exactly a secret.

“It’s beautiful. I want to put some in the bedrooms, and then we’re going upstairs and decorating the common room. Is there enough?” Winter asks, all business again.

“I don’t think so? I mean - for the bedrooms, definitely, but the common room-”

“Excuse me, Captain. There’s a full set of lights and ornaments that usually go up in the third week of December, but I can easily give you access to the storage area,” JARVIS intercedes. “Would you like to go there now?”

Steve looks at Winter, who nods quickly, eyes wide in a pleading expression.

“Um. Yes, please?” Steve says, feeling like he’s somehow lost control of the situation. He had _plans,_ a quiet evening in with spicy hot chocolate and a movie, and there’s dough for gingerbread cookies cooling in the fridge, but. Well, okay. 

He can feel himself grinning, and only part of it is the anticipation of seeing their friends’ faces tomorrow morning. 

There’s _so many other things_ he’s got planned.


	3. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What started out as curiosity about the silky shawl Natalia was knitting during one of their sleepless nights - it was her that time that couldn’t sleep, and Winter keeping her company - turned into a full-blown fascination with all things fibre-y. There was something soft and careful about the way Nat let them into this world, first letting Winter watch, then showing him the basic stitches, then taking him to her favorite yarn shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wrote itself in two hours. "Write what you know", from start to finish 😂  
> (I'm _trying_ not to go all crafting geek on main. I'm really _trying!_ 😅)
> 
> Shared headspace: **bold** for Winter, _italics_ for Bucky. As always, assume Russian dialogue for both Olga _and_ the spysassins.

25 November 2014

Bucky has always been the happy-go-lucky one.

It’s always been Steve’s job to plan, organize, schedule - he had a million lists, and back-up plans for every smallest eventuality. Back then, it was so easy to just leave things in his care - he enjoyed making sure the big picture he envisioned in his head came to life. Bucky was perfectly content to just listen to him - get a list of tasks, get them all done and enjoy the way Steve lit up when things went according to plan. And if Bucky always insisted on getting a kiss or three whenever he’d done something particularly well - nobody could really blame him, right? Steve was right _there,_ happy and proud and more than willing to reward him.

When Bucky learned what the propaganda machine decided to call Steve - The Man With The Plan, _really?_ \- well, he couldn’t let Steve live it down. It became a running joke with the Howlies, that Steve pretended to hate - but Bucky knew there was more fondness to it than anything. It made him a great Captain, for all that he lacked the actual training - the attention to detail combined with serum’s amplified cognitive abilities. And when he needed someone to gently take the maps out of his hands at the end of the night, make him think about something that wasn’t mission prep - Bucky was right there, ready to get him out of his head. It was his job, as Captain America’s Sergeant, to make sure he wouldn’t run himself ragged - it’d already been his job for years before that, when they'd been just Steve-and-Bucky.

Bucky’s got enough therapy under his belt now to recognize that what Steve’s got is control issues a mile wide - issues that have everything to do with how he couldn’t manage his own body, so he tried to control whatever he could outside of it. Bucky knows, because it’s shaped the man _he_ became, too, joined at the hip as they were.

It’s not a _problem,_ per se, just another Steve-and-Bucky thing that they need to be aware of if they’re to actually get better, Steve and Bucky _and_ Winter, too. Their situation is unprecedented, so it’s up to them to negotiate it as best they can.

So, Steve planning the shit out of absolutely everything? It’s not new to Bucky, in fact, it’s _comforting._

It _is_ new, however, to Winter. They’re past the point where he thought of Steve as their handler, where he just assumed Steve’s word is to be obeyed - and it’s fascinating, really, how he slotted himself into their lives like the missing piece of the puzzle. Winter makes his own detailed plans within Steve’s grand ones, analyzes available data to plot best course of action - be it the best order to watch the stuff they want to catch up on, most efficient way to make pancakes, or which exact hair products to use to achieve the desired effect of Steve losing his train of thought whenever he’s near them.

So, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, really, that Winter is taking the mission ‘perfect gifts’ very, very seriously.

What started out as curiosity about the silky shawl Natalia was knitting during one of their sleepless nights - it was _her_ that time that couldn’t sleep, and Winter keeping her company - turned into a full-blown fascination with all things fibre-y. There was something soft and careful about the way Nat let them into this world, first letting Winter watch, then showing him the basic stitches, then taking him to her favorite yarn shop.

Bucky’s caught on to something that Winter didn’t: that taking Winter to see Olga wasn’t the plan - not right then, anyway. The Spiderling might trust them with her life, but there’s some things she keeps close to her chest - and the sharp-eyed lady who runs a beautifully maintained store that _no clients ever visit_ is obviously one of those things.

Olga takes one look at Winter and decides to adopt him, there’s no other way to describe what happens. Maybe she just has a soft heart for confused ex-spysassins… but it feels like there’s more to the story, something that Natalia’s not ready to share yet. 

Winter’s way too disciplined to growl in frustration, even though Bucky can sense him buzzing with it, the repeated attempts at a simple stockinette going from bad to worse to _abysmal._

“I can hear you fuming, котенок,” Olga finally says, even though Winter made no sound other than a few exasperated sighs. The women have been chattering for the last hour and a half - saying nothing of import, really, Olga complaining about a supplier being late, Natalia musing about kinds of yarn durable enough to stand up to Clint’s particular brand of wear and tear - but still, Winter’s been loath to interrupt them.

“It just keeps _slipping!”_ he whines in answer. The yarn’s a tangled mess in his lap, curling on itself from the number of times it’s been knitted, then ripped out, then knitted again.

 _Hey, you do know you don’t_ have to _do this, right?_ Bucky says carefully. _I’m sure Steve’ll love whatever-_

 **I know I don’t** **_have to!_ ** Winter snaps, then winces. **I** **_want to._ ** **I want to** **_make_ ** **something** **_beautiful._ ** **Steve can draw. You can dance. I want to learn something that’s not killing and torture, I want to** **_create_ ** **something!**

Bucky hums, trying to soothe. _It doesn’t have to be_ this, _though. You’ve been cooking with Steve, right? Or, there’s many other crafts you can learn, if this is too hard with the arm-_

 **No. No, I want to** **_make soft things._ ** **It just takes practice, right? I can** **_do_ ** **this. And I want to be able to do this with Natalia.**

(The thing is, Winter can be stubborn as a mule, once he decides to make something his mission. It’s admirable. It’s also endlessly frustrating, when you’re in his head the way Bucky is.)

Bucky groans. It’s going to be one of _those_ days, then. 

_Fine, go ahead. Far be it from me to tell you what to do._

Olga notices Winter focusing on her again - she’s been endlessly patient with him, somehow, even not knowing the exact reason they space out sometimes. “Well, don’t take this the wrong way, котенок, but we need to find a way to work around this hand of yours,” she says, bluntly pointing one of her needles at the offending appendage.

Winter freezes, but Natalia throws him a reassuring look. They’ve talked about this - they’re not _telling_ Olga who Winter is, but they’re not _not telling her_ either. She’s obviously smart as a whip, and Natalia trusts her to keep whatever she figures out to herself.

The hand is disguised by a Stark-made photostatic veil, but it’s obvious from the way it moves that it’s _different._ Yarn doesn’t snag over the veil-sleeve, but it doesn’t hold tension well.

Winter sighs and deflates. “What did you have in mind?”

Olga smiles at him, obviously pleased, then turns to Natalia. “‘Tashenka, I love you, but what you taught this boy, holding yarn in his left hand like that? Didn’t you see it wouldn’t work?”

Natalia sputters. “I- this is what _you_ taught me! It’s how we’ve been doing it for-!” she exclaims, obviously miffed.

“True, but it’s obviously not working _here,_ is it?” Olga grouses, then comes to sit next to Winter on the sofa. “Here, let me show you,” she says much more gently, grabbing Winter’s hands and folding his fingers around the needles. If she notices how the left hand is much harder than the right one, so very obviously not skin-and-bone, she doesn’t let it show. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to hold the yarn in your _right_ hand…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: you _can_ indeed hold yarn with your right or left hand while knitting. Natalia and Olga, being Russian, would’ve learned to do it _continental style_ , holding yarn in your left hand and sort of _picking_ the strand with the working needle. The preferred method in the West - including America - is _English style_ , where you hold yarn in your right hand and _throw it_ over the needle - and it puts way less pressure on your left hand and arm! So, an absolutely honest mistake on Natalia’s part.  
> (I - being Polish - knit continental, too.)


	4. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want you to show me.” Steve gasps a little, closing his eyes, but Bucky doesn’t let him go even an inch. “I want to see, Stevie.”  
> “It’s not the same, Buck,” Steve whispers, not opening his eyes. “There’s nothing there for us anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry holidays, y'all.  
> Have some actually _stucky_ content 😉 The plan was absolute, undiluted schmoop, but, well. You know what happens when I try to do that 😂

8 December 2014

“Hey, Stevie, how come we don’t live in Brooklyn?” Bucky asks casually at breakfast, all sleepy smiles and rumpled pyjamas and hands wrapped around a huge mug of vanilla latte, and Steve’s so busy melting into a puddle of goo at the sight that the question doesn’t even register at first.

Then it does, and Steve freezes. It’s been a long time coming, he knows.

“It’s… complicated,” he hedges, and gets an eye roll and his ankle poked with a bony toe for good measure.

(Bucky’s toes have always been an absolute menace; he’s made using them to get his point across into an artform - or an act of  _ war. _ Steve would swear up and down that he actually got bruises on his calves at least a few times. Bucky’s toes? They’re  _ not  _ to be trifled with.)

“Well, I’ve got two hours till I have to be in therapy, so lay it on me,” Bucky says, then smiles at him in a way that’s always been Steve’s undoing. Like he could ever deny Bucky anything, anyway.

“After the ice, you know how they sent me to this Retreat place?” Steve starts, and Bucky’s face hardens.

“You mean how they tried to isolate you so you’d be easier to manipulate?” he counters.

They’ve had this conversation already. Bucky very nearly blew a gasket, seeing the move for what it was - Hydra slowly moving to acquire another supersoldier Asset. It’s terrifying to think how they might’ve succeeded if not for-

“Yes,” Steve agrees, “and then the Chitauri, and then Tony just… gave us a home and wouldn’t take no for an answer. The D.C. apartment’s always been just a place to sleep between missions; here… I felt safe here. It was still my city, but also a new start, you know?”

_ “Sometimes the best we can do is to start over,”  _ Bucky murmurs and reaches out to cup Steve’s cheek. “I know, doll.”

Steve, predictably, blushes and smiles into his coffee. “I do love it here, though. I love that we’re all on top of each other all the time, I love that I’m one elevator ride away from crashing Tony’s lab or a game night with Clint. I love how easy it is to Assemble, that we’ve got all the equipment we need right here, that there’s a floor full of medical professionals who can work with my serum and Tony’s reactor and Bruce’s post-Hulk slump. I love Jane and Darcy and Pepper corralling us to do actual regular human stuff. It’s become  _ home,  _ you know?”

“Have you tried going back?” Bucky asks, hand going down Steve’s arm to tangle their fingers. He sounds casual, but there’s tension in his face that belies the easy tone.

Thing is, Steve  _ did  _ make his way to Brooklyn. Just the once, as soon as SHIELD realized that giving him a security detail - a glorified babysitter, as much as he liked the man - was not going to work, and begrudgingly let him off the leash. That very first day, he tried to come home only to realize home wasn’t  _ there  _ anymore. Somehow, the Heights have become this posh place, full of restaurants and boutiques he dared not enter; thronged with busy people whose appearance screamed money in a way that still intimidated Steve. Sure, he’s supposedly pretty affluent himself now, thanks to Howard’s handling of his affairs after he’d crashed the Valkyrie, but he’ll always be that poor Depression-era Brooklyn boy at heart. Seeing his Heights become something he couldn’t recognize  _ hurt. _ It hurt  _ a lot. _

He never went back after that - figured there was nothing to go back  _ to. _

Steve knows his face must be showing at least some of his heartbreak, because Bucky slips off his chair and straight into Steve’s lap, in a gesture that’s got nothing to do with sex and everything to do with comfort. He wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, and that puts Steve’s face right in the crook of his neck, and it’s perfect. Bucky dwarfs Steve like this, making him feel small and protected, the heavy weight grounding him.

Steve loses track of time, the fingers playing with his hair soothing him into a trance until all he knows is  _ Bucky  _ and  _ home  _ and  _ safe.  _ It’s some indeterminable amount of time later - after their coffee’s long gone cold - when Bucky finally untangles them a little and smiles down at him, soft and understanding. He presses a kiss on Steve’s forehead, then murmurs,

“I want you to show me.” Steve gasps a little, closing his eyes, but Bucky doesn’t let him go even an inch. “I want to see, Stevie.”

“It’s not the same, Buck,” Steve whispers, not opening his eyes. “There’s nothing there for us anymore.”

“It’s New York. It’s  _ Brooklyn.  _ Even if it’s all gone we’ll make new memories, doll. I’m not letting the ice take  _ this  _ away from us.” There’s a note of authority in Bucky’s voice, for all that he’s still whispering into this little pocket of space between them.

Steve might’ve argued, anyway, but then Bucky adds,  _ “Please,  _ Stevie,” and, well, Steve would do  _ anything  _ for him. Flay himself open at Bucky’s feet, if that’s what he wanted. This trip over the bridge, laden with bittersweet memories as it is… It won’t be easy, but it’s what Bucky wants.

And, he’s right. They need to face this future - this  _ present  _ \- head on.

Steve steels himself for heartbreak. Melancholy, at the very least. For Bucky to realize that being back in Brooklyn again is like reopening an old wound that’s best left to close and heal by itself. 

The last thing he expects is enthusiastic wonder.

He should’ve known - Bucky’s always been all about the future, excited about what it might bring, always hoping for the best. For cars to fly, for aliens to live on Mars, for Steve to be healthy. He’s a dreamer, and apparently not even 70 years of torture can take that away from him.

Steve loves him so much it’s hard to breathe, sometimes.

They make an afternoon of it, strolling slowly through the Brooklyn Bridge, pausing to watch the sunset over the water, and if Bucky notices Steve’s stalling, he’s kind enough not to mention it. He does get impatient at some point, though, drags him by the hand, all smiles and little inside jokes designed to keep Steve out of his head.

They start slow, with Brooklyn Bridge Park and its Promenade, and that’s okay, that’s easy, neither of these were around when they were just two ruffians running amok all over Heights. It’s amazing what’s been done with the place, the old warehouse district turned into a green area that’s beautiful even now, in the late autumn evening. They make their meandering way down the paths, and there’s the Manhattan view they know - the encroaching dark making the changes the time’s wrought less obvious, leaving just a skyline full of glittering lights. They’re nearly alone, and they’re both wearing photostatic veils besides, changing their features just enough that it’s not  _ instantly  _ obvious who they are. So, they’re free to touch - and it’s strange, holding hands in public, being able to just fix the strand of hair that’s escaped Bucky’s simple braid, not having to pretend that the arm thrown around the shoulders is just friendly roughhousing.

It’s 21st century New York. Nobody  _ cares  _ about the two guys on a date, apart from maybe ogling them appreciatively.

By the time they’ve made the way through the Park, Steve’s relaxed enough to consider venturing further in. He can see by Bucky’s smirk that this’s been the plan all along, and on anyone else it might’ve been grating, being managed like that, but with Bucky he’s just  _ grateful.  _ Amazing as the Avengers & Co are, nothing’s gonna beat the easy familiarity born of knowing each other all your lives.

So they wander, a slow walk through the streets that used to be theirs. There’s so many things they recognize - the city’s done a marvelous job preserving the historical buildings - but it’s all been renovated, beautified, becoming a more modern version of the neighborhood he used to know like the back of his hand. 

There’s nostalgia, yes. But it’s almost a sweet thing now, with Bucky huddled close under his arm, with the knowledge that he’s not the only one who recognizes the way it  _ was.  _ He used to wonder - was he remembering it correctly? The serum gave him perfect recall, but things from  _ before  _ are way more muddy. There were moments he was terrified, doubting the simplest facts - and having nobody to verify those things meant that he avoided thinking about them altogether. Now there’s Bucky who laughs brightly at every new memory, supplying details that make the stories come back to life. The time they found that cat in the alley behind the Barnes’s building, the cat that Becca took one look at and decided to keep. The way the staff at that one diner never even blinked at the way Steve was always curled into Bucky’s side, both sipping from the same cup of hot chocolate. The many, many alley fights Bucky’s broken for him, wading in like an avenging angel and implicitly trusting Steve’s judgement on starting them in the first place… 

The building Steve grew up in is gone, a way more modern construction in its place; but the one they lived in together - that’s still standing, and they spend a long time just looking at it. It’s strange. It’s different from what Steve remembers, the whole facade renovated and elegant, but it’s  _ still the same place.  _ It’s the same way he felt in Camp Lehigh, a slew of memories attacking him all at once.

They were happy here. This is where they really became  _ them,  _ not just Steve and Bucky, the best friends, but Steve-and-Bucky, the men so in love that even the war didn’t manage to come between them.

(Only the ice managed that, later.)

Bucky senses the direction Steve’s mind is going, and drags him into a coffee shop - for some ridiculous concoction that’s more milk and sugar and whipped cream than coffee - then even deeper into Brooklyn, chattering all the while. Silly little stories,  _ do you remember when  _ and  _ oh god is this the place where  _ and  _ I wonder what’s become of,  _ and he succeeds in making Steve smile, then laugh. It’s the way they’ve always been, Bucky’s unbounded enthusiasm lifting him up even when they literally had nothing but each other.

Each other’s always been enough.

Steve raises an eyebrow when he figures out where Bucky’s leading them, but Bucky just shrugs and grins his unrepentant little grin and, well. It  _ is  _ a fitting final destination to this trip down memory lane. It’s where they met, after all.

It’s a Monday evening, and the weather’s been getting chilly, so Prospect Park is almost deserted, and they take their time just wandering. They don’t talk much, but the silence is comfortable the way it’s always been between them. Steve can’t help but steal glances at Bucky - the rosy cheeks and the lips glistening with what Steve knows to be strawberry chapstick and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile every now and then. They’re holding hands again, loose and familiar, and it’s all Steve can do not to stop and kiss him senseless right then and there.

It’s been years since they- hell, it’s been  _ decades.  _ But he’s following Bucky’s lead on this one, the way he always has, the way he knows Bucky needs now more than ever.

Then Bucky looks up at the sky and laughs. Steve’s heart skips a beat.

“Look, Stevie, snow,” Bucky turns to him, beaming, then pauses when he sees the look on Steve’s face.

Steve doesn’t know what Bucky sees - the open adoration, the wonder at being here together against all odds, the hunger for something, _any_ thing \- but whatever it is, it stops him short and he seems to be considering.

There’s tiny pieces of snow glittering in his hair now, and Steve can’t  _ think. _

“You should’ve said something, doll,” Bucky murmurs finally.

“I didn’t want you to feel-” Steve starts awkwardly, then goes quiet when Bucky’s hands come to cup his face, one flesh-warm and one metal-cold. There’s only Bucky’s _eyes_ and Bucky’s _smirk,_ familiar even through the veil, and-

Bucky takes his time. He nudges their noses together, just breathing the same air - and  _ oh,  _ that’s the smell of that strawberry chapstick that Winter loves - then a small kiss to Steve’s cheek, the corner of his mouth, featherlight and still burning Steve like a brand.

Somehow, it’s like the first time all over again, the shock of it fizzling all through Steve’s body. 

Somehow, it’s like they’ve done it a thousand times - which they  _ have  _ \- the way Bucky toys with him before finally, finally kissing him, soft and reverent like they’ve got all the time in the world.

They  _ do, _ Steve realizes in a distant corner of his mind. They’ve got nothing but time, here in this future where what they are isn’t an issue to anyone who matters.

“Take me home, Rogers,” Bucky whispers, moving away just an inch, the words still caressing Steve’s lips. “I want to do this without this damn thing on.”

Steve blinks owlishly, brain not even close to online. “Huh?”

“The veil?” Bucky asks, finally stepping back. Steve feels the bit of space between them like it’s an ocean, for all that Bucky’s hands are still cupping his face. Steve just keeps staring, dazed, and Bucky laughs, delighted. “Come on. We’ve got a perfectly good sofa at home  _ and  _ it’s gonna be warm there.”

That finally shakes Steve out of his stupor, just a little. Neither of them likes the cold so much. He closes the distance between them again, kisses Bucky’s forehead - earning a giggle and a slight blush visible even in the low light - then moves to tuck Bucky under his arm again. Automatically, Bucky’s arm snakes its way around his waist, bringing them even closer, and smirks up at him - obviously proud of himself for stunning Steve speechless.

“Let’s go,” Steve agrees, giddy like a teenager.

All of his firsts have always been Bucky’s. This one, the first real kiss this side of the ice - it’s fitting that it belongs to him, as well.


	5. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out, figure skating is very much a Russian thing. He supposes it makes sense, with the climate and all, but it’s definitely not something he remembers from his USSR years. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (thank you all SO MUCH for your amazing comments, they're 100% what's keeping me motivated to write as much as i seem to be, lately. you're _fantabulous_ 😘)

12 December 2014

“This… is a sport,” Winter says, looking at the screen.

There’s glittery costumes - on both women  _ and  _ men - and strong make-up and dramatic music. The pair starts slow, gliding on the ice like it’s nothing more difficult than taking a stroll, like they’re not wearing  _ blades  _ on their feet.

Bruce and Natalia are  _ glued  _ to the screen, though, so Winter just shrugs and takes his spot in the corner of the sectional, immediately sticking his toes under Natalia’s thigh. She smiles at him briefly, before returning her attention to the show.

He takes out his project bag - a beanie to go with the mittens and scarf he’s already made for himself. He decided he won’t inflict his disastrous first attempts on anyone, even if Olga says the mistakes give them  _ character.  _ And besides, he likes how he can trace his progress, things smoothing out from the calamity that was the first few inches of the scarf, to almost even on the mittens, to really nice here, on the beanie. He’ll need help finishing it off though, that’s what he sought Natalia out for.

He’s about to start counting to figure out where he left off last night, when the man  _ throws the woman up in the air.  _ Winter gasps when she spins and lands in a graceful half-crouch, then proceeds to- to-

Winter doesn’t have words to describe what he’s seeing. All he can do is watch as the man seems to - chase? Are they  _ racing? _ \- the woman through the surface of the ice that seemed ridiculously big a second ago, but is now obviously barely enough to contain the - choreography? This thing has to be choreographed, right? - the pair is performing.

All too soon, the song ends, the man having finally caught up to his partner. Winter realizes he doesn’t know how long it lasted - was it a minute? Five? Ten? He’s at the edge of his seat, needles forgotten in his lap. He turns to Natalia, struck dumb.

“Not a sport, huh?” she laughs in his face, and he thinks, okay,  _ fair enough.  _ “This event is just starting, want to watch with us?” she continues.

Well,  _ obviously. _ The beanie can wait.

Turns out,  _ figure skating  _ is very much a Russian thing. He supposes it makes sense, with the climate and all, but it’s definitely not something he remembers from his USSR years. 

(The only thing to come close is the ballet he’s seen the little Widows be taught, but even that had a deadly spin of turning all moves into combat training. He remembers the grace of those tiny bodies, twirling around and around him, like acrobatics would save them from the Soldier’s supernatural strength.

He remembers the Soldier breaking them, one by one. 

_ “Only the breakable ones,” _ a voice in his head says.)

Winter shudders, then focuses back on Natalia. She’s holding a hand out to him, knowing he won’t be able to get up without help, and smirking. The brat.

They’re on the Tower roof that’s somehow been transformed into an ice rink overnight. Of course it has - by the end of the 3 hour show, the team were  _ all  _ somehow piled up on the various sectionals and poufs around the enormous TV. Tony sauntered in, took one look at them and decided to just. Give them an ice rink? 

(Winter spent the longest time trying to figure out what strings came attached to Tony’s gifts, only to realize… there don’t seem to be any. He’s just  _ Tony  _ that way.)

“It looked so easy!” Winter complains, grabbing her hand and carefully righting himself. “Why do I keep falling?”

“I mean, at a guess, your left side weighs way more than your right?” Natalia looks him over critically, skating backwards away from him. “Your balance is all wrong. Come on, try again.”

Winter pouts. “How come  _ you’re  _ so good at it?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” Natalia says, shrugging. “I don’t remember learning, but then, I don’t remember learning  _ a lot  _ of things. Some stuff just… didn’t come back, and probably never will. I learned to live with it.” She looks genuinely unbothered by it, spinning around to speed away from him and do a quick jump. It’s not nearly as showy as what they’ve seen on TV, but she does it with effortless grace, then turns back around to beam at him, obviously delighted.

He gives her a thumbs-up and a huge smile, because brat or not, she’s  _ his  _ Spiderling. He'll always be proud of her.

“Need help?”

Winter twists toward the voice, then promptly loses his balance and falls against a muscled chest covered by a soft, cream sweater. Huge arms come up to steady him, then run down to hold his hands while he tries to recover.

“Hi, Steve,” Winter says, breathless. In the back of their head, Bucky snickers.

Steve grins at him, carefully letting go. “You seem to be in need of someone to catch you, and I can’t help but think you have Nat at a size disadvantage.”

Winter scowls. “We’ve been at it for over an hour, I don’t think I’m getting any better.”

“We’ll start slow,” Steve promises.

They do. 

They  _ really  _ do.

By the end of the day, Winter decides that  _ nope,  _ he’ll stick to watching other people skate. It’s not that he thinks he  _ can’t  _ learn - it’s just that there’s so many other things that he’d rather work on. And, his new mittens have been battle-tested and proven sturdy enough to withstand even scraping the ice multiple times, so the afternoon’s not a total loss.

He settles down with his hot chocolate, watching Natalia teach Steve some basic lifts - which he masters in no time, to everyone’s surprise. In a while, Winter’s going to have to go inside, change out of his wet clothes and maybe find some bruise cream for his knees. For now, though - his two favorite people are laughing in delight, taking turns chasing each other all over the rink. Manhattan glitters all around them, making him think about the common room they’ve had so much fun decorating with fairy lights. Maybe later he’ll ask Steve’s help to decorate the roof, too, since it seems like the team would enjoy spending time here.

It’s only the middle of December - not even proper winter, yet - but Winter already feels like this might be his favorite season so far. Sure, there’s something to be said for basking in the summer heat, but this, right now? It’s worth suffering through the slight chill in the air.


	6. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well, good thing we’ve got tons of wrap left_ , Bucky says, looking at the drop of blood that mars the beautiful, silvery surface. _Papercuts are a **bitch,**_ he adds sympathetically.  
> Winter whines miserably, the injured thumb stuck in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many happies in this new year, y'all! 
> 
> Mentioned in this chapter: [electro swing](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/549lx4U7hl7dSSRMoGIUga?si=sAz1WkWCQ8eA1q5i2ZktrQ). I dare you to give it a try and tell me Bucky wouldn't _love_ it.
> 
> Shared headspace: **bold** for Winter, _italics_ for Bucky.

22 December 2014

_Hmm, you_ **_sure_ ** _you know what you’re doing?_

**How hard can it be?**

_I know you know what ‘famous last words’ are…_ Winter harrumphs and doesn’t grace Bucky with a response. _So, you’re trusting in the power of the internet._

 **Well, it** **_is_ ** **extremely helpful,** Winter says absently. **Now stop distracting me.**

Bucky grins. _Just, you know, if you need help, I can-_

**Yes, yes, I know. Go think happy thoughts about Steve’s pectorals or whatever it is you do, I got work to do here.**

Bucky doesn’t go think happy thoughts - though Steve’s pecs _are_ indeed worthy of much, _much_ consideration. He decides to stick around and watch Winter wage war on wrapping paper, partly because he senses his experience might come in handy (he _has_ packed quite a lot of gifts in his time, being the eldest and responsible for helping his mom organize all manner of holidays), and partly because, well. Watching Winter is _fun._

One of the unexpected upsides of timesharing a body is the fact that you’re _never alone._ Sure, it could’ve very easily become grating, but somehow, it never did. Bucky’s always been a sponge, soaking up energy from the mere fact of being around his loved ones. It used to be his sisters, Steve, the many and varied friends they’d made over the years of living in the queerest quarter of Brooklyn. Now, yeah, there’s the team, there’s Peter and Natalia and Steve, but first and foremost? There’s Winter. And Winter is absolutely _delightful._

Bucky knows Winter’s aware of his train of thought - he’s not making any effort to hide it, after all, why would he? It feels like basking in a sunspot, the yellow contentment radiating off Winter in the wake of Bucky’s affection.

 **I enjoy your company too, you know,** Winter says quietly, smiling. 

_Well good, it would’ve been really awkward otherwise,_ Bucky snorts.

Winter hums thoughtfully, but says nothing.

Bucky can sense part of Winter’s attention remaining with him even as he continues his struggle with the gift wrap. They’ve been working on multitasking like this, not just putting everything on hold to talk - Bucky tells himself it’s just so they don’t stand out so obviously in social situations, but he knows Winter’s got his own analysis of this. He doesn’t like how vulnerable they are in these moments, the same way he doesn’t like being completely unarmed or sitting with his back to the door.

They never really talked about this, about how Winter’s obviously more than ready to join the Avengers while Bucky wants nothing to do with any combat situations ever again. Bucky figures they’ve got time. The Avengers haven’t been called to Assemble in almost a year, a fact that everyone’s grateful for after the mess of Ten Rings - Dark Elves - SHIELDra back to back. He’s not naive enough to assume that the time _won’t_ come - if anything, the Avengers seem to be a magnet for trouble - but they’ll cross that bridge once they get to it.

Bucky hopes that the bridge stays far, far away, and he can sense Winter agreeing. There’s no use borrowing trouble when there’s two days left till Christmas and the biggest problem the team is faced with right now is the annual SI holiday party that Pepper made very clear is obligatory for anyone not off-world.

As much as Bucky loves getting all dressed up, this didn’t sound like the kind of party he’d enjoy so he was more than glad to leave Steve to suffer through it on his own. Sure, he might’ve been able to go using the photostatic veil, but what fun is a party where he can’t dance with Steve or even spend any significant amount of time by his side? Nah, he’s good here with hot chocolate and electro swing playing from the speakers. He bets the music down there at the party is way worse, too.

There’s a hiss followed by a frustrated huff.

 _Well, good thing we’ve got tons of wrap left,_ Bucky says, looking at the drop of blood that mars the beautiful, silvery surface. _Papercuts are a_ **_bitch,_ **he adds sympathetically.

Winter whines miserably, the injured thumb stuck in his mouth.

 _Oh come on, I know for a fact you get worse every time you spar with Thor or Iron Man,_ Bucky laughs.

 **Yes, but there I** **_expect_ ** **to be injured. This is just… uncalled for. It’s only paper!** There’s a note of disbelief in Winter’s voice as he inspects the finger closely. The cut, though admittedly quite deep, is already starting to knit itself together.

 _Go stick some antiseptic on it, anyway,_ Bucky directs, and he can sense Winter’s incredulity. _You_ **_know_ ** _Steve will ask if you did._

 **This packing business was supposed to take no more than 30 minutes,** Winter grouses, going to the bathroom for their first aid kit.

 _Well it might’ve if you let_ **_me_ ** _do it. You’re the one taking care of most of the gifts anyway, it’s the least I can do._

 **Fine,** Winter agrees, petulant, cleaning the cut and then wrapping it in a Hulk-themed band-aid for good measure. **Do you want to redo the ones I managed** **_not_ ** **to bleed all over?** he asks once they’re back on the living room floor, surrounded by what looks like an aftermath of a small explosive hitting a Hallmark store.

 _Nah, you did a great job,_ Bucky says, eyeing the admittedly quite… imaginative ways the paper is folded together. Winter cringes. _For your first time,_ Bucky adds after some thought, grinning impishly.

Winter squawks indignantly. Bucky sends him a wave of warm amusement, just to make sure he knows it’s okay, and feels him settle a little.

 _It’s okay to ask for help, you know. The fact you’ve been getting more independent doesn’t mean you have to do_ **_everything_ ** _on your own._

 **I don’t want to bug you about every single little thing-** Winter starts.

 _No. It’s okay. I want to be bugged._ Winter still looks dubious. _Do you worry about troubling Steve or Natalia this way, too?_

 **They can choose whether they help or not, whether they** **_want to_ ** **spend time with me or not,** Winter answers softly after some thought. **You can’t.**

 _Oh, sweetheart._ Winter blinks owlishly. _I don’t mind. I’ll never mind, I promise._

Bucky doesn’t know where the endearment came from, but like hell is he going to take it back now, seeing a warm, pleased _something_ unfurl in Winter. They linger a bit, just enjoying the unexpected moment, basking in the glow of fairy lights all around them and the smell of a miniature tree that takes up one of the corners of the room. 

As shocked as they were at the prices of miniature hand-blown baubles they found at the craft fair they’ve gone to, Steve took one look at Winter’s captivated smile and just handed his credit card over to the elderly gentleman running the booth. They came home with 20 unique ornaments that the artist promised were all one of a kind, dainty glass balls painted in abstract iridescent swirls. They added some tinsel icicles, a string of tiny white lights and some paper snowflakes that Steve cut out of silvery paper. The result is nothing like the giant colorful trees in the common areas of the Tower, nothing like the ones they used to have before the war and the ice. It’s so much _better,_ somehow reflecting what _they_ love.

 _We need to get a move on if we don’t want Steve to see what you’re up to,_ Bucky finally murmurs. He’s loath to break Winter’s quiet contentment, but they’ve got some more gifts to pack and a whole lot of cleaning to do. He delicately takes over, stretches and grabs a fresh roll of wrapping paper.

 **Will you show me** **_how?_ **Winter asks softly, evidently still caught up in the spell of the moment.

Bucky considers for a second, then nods. They haven’t tried this before, but why not? He kind of _moves to the side,_ just enough to make some space for Winter to slot next to him. It’s a peculiar feeling, like he’s riding the very edge of losing his balance, but it’s not… _bad?_ They could get used to this, he thinks, and he senses Winter evaluating this new position in terms of _mission_ and _effectiveness_. Bucky _elbows_ him, and he yelps.

 **Fine, fine, less combat, more Christmas spirit, got it,** Winter mutters, disgruntled.

Bucky laughs helplessly. _Well, you seem to have been fighting a losing battle with stationery here, so actually I can’t blame you for your mood._ Winter elbows him right back, grumbling wordlessly. _Now, focus. Hold_ **_here,_ ** _we can do Natalia’s present next._


	7. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh come on, how is that playing fair?” Tony whines. “We said Earth words, didn’t we?”  
> There’s a chorus of “eh?” and “did we?” from the team, splayed all over the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's a wrap on Winter in winter stuff. Chronologically, now's the time for arm trouble in _at arm's length_ 😉 yes, I've jumped around the timeline a tiny bit, I'm hoping it won't happen... a lot. If you're lost, you can find the series timeline [HERE.](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/post/637890812746891264/timeline-for-the-winter-drabbles-series)  
> Next up... kittens. And then plot will rear its ugly head once again 😈  
> This chapter was born of my frustration when playing Scrabble with my fam on NYE. I. Absolutely. Can't. Scrabble. My brain goes blank, whether it's my native tongue or English. People seriously do this for _fun?!_ 😂
> 
> The absolutely AMAZING art was made by **the incredible[Kit Bananas](https://twitter.com/Hark_Bananas)** as a TSTM secret Santa gift.  
> I saw. I squealed. I've been squealing ever since, and I'm **so happy** to be able to share it with you! 😍
> 
> And if you'd like, you can find me on [Tumblr](https://kocuria.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/kocuria)

25 December 2014

“I believe this gives me 54 points with the triple word score, am I correct, friend JARVIS?”

 _“Chronicoms?!”_ Tony exclaims, frustrated. “Oh, come on, I’m _sure_ that’s not a word, J, is it a word?”

“Indeed it isn’t, sir,” JARVIS confirms.

“Ah, but it is! They’re a peaceful race hailing from the constellation you designated Cygnus,” Thor answers somberly. Jane nods seriously from under his arm, but Darcy, splayed over both their laps, starts giggling uncontrollably. Without taking his eyes off Tony, Thor reaches down to poke her in the side, causing her to squeal and curl into a ball around his hand. Thor’s mouth quirks a tiny bit. 

“It’s true, I’ve read about it in Aesir archives!” Jane adds, obviously excited. “They’re anthropologists, they covertly observe other races’ development. Lady Frigga speculated there should be some on Earth, even, but I’ve never found any evidence of them-”

“Oh come on, how is that playing fair?” Tony whines. “We said Earth words, didn’t we?”

There’s a chorus of “eh?” and “did we?” from the team, splayed all over Tony’s living room. They’re dressed in pyjamas and bundled in blankets, snacking lazily on the remnants of breakfast and playing a souped-up version of Scrabble that JARVIS modified to accommodate up to 15 players on a huge board projected in the middle of the room. There’s wrapping paper strewn everywhere - the aftermath of the mountain of presents they’ve unpacked earlier. 

Most of them were small things - books, sweets, a soft blanket or five, gift cards and bottles of (knowing Tony, exorbitantly expensive) alcohol. Natalia wowed everyone with hand-made beanies with the meticulously stitched A, color-coded for each Avenger and their friends. She framed it as gag gifts, but judging by everyone’s reactions, they’ll definitely get a lot of unironic wear.

Steve, Bucky and Winter exchanged their presents last night - simple framed drawings from Steve, carefully calligraphed letters from Bucky that are somehow both heartfelt and absolutely hilarious at the same time, and Winter’s wonderfully warm and only _slightly_ wonky scarves that they now know to coordinate with Natasha’s beanies perfectly. They agreed on handmade for old times’ sake, as that was something Steve and Bucky always did before (and during) the war. 

It’s the first time Winter ever got any gifts. Seeing his face as he was reading Bucky’s letter - that Bucky somehow managed to keep a complete surprise - and then unpacked Steve’s drawing, a portrait of Winter, covered in flour and giggling like a maniac while trying to make pancakes for the first time… Steve knows he must look absolutely besotted just remembering his wonder now.

**Image:** close-up of Winter's hands, knitting || **Art by:** [Kit Bananas](https://twitter.com/Hark_Bananas)

Pepper hums, seemingly deep in thought but grinning mischievously. “Well, I believe Aesir words are fair game, seeing as you started using scientific terminology, Tony.” It earns her a beatific smile from Thor.

“Can’t believe I didn’t think about _viscoelasticity_ first,” Bruce grumbles under his breath. Steve’s pretty sure he and Bucky are the only ones to hear him, though.

“And, and! Jane used _polytropes!_ And _that’s_ an astrophysics thing!” Darcy pipes up, having finally caught her breath. “And astrophysics is basically another language, so Thor’s chronicoms should totally count, Tony.”

“Ugh, _fine,_ I’ll let it slide. This time. And we’ll be looking into these chronicoms after this, Foster, you with me?” Tony asks, and Jane nods enthusiastically. “Your turn, Brucie-bear.”

Steve tunes out the conversation - Bruce and Tony arguing over the correct spelling of _ionisation_ \- in favor of burying his smile in the crook of Bucky’s neck. It’s easy, since Bucky’s been lounging in his lap all morning, dressed in his softest blue pyjamas with white reindeer on them, hair falling in loose waves and tickling Steve’s face teasingly.

It’s still new, the closeness, Bucky rediscovering his tactility in this new body of his. Sure, he’s used to being bigger than Steve, but there’s a lot more to both of them, now - muscle and metal, scars and trauma, dreams and nightmares. It’s not like Steve’s a poster boy for adapting to change well, either, so between the two of them and Winter’s touch aversion it’s an absolute minefield of trying, failing, then trying again and failing _better._

This, though, this is easy. Steve noses in Bucky’s hair, breathing him in as he feels the vibrations of Bucky chuckling at the scientists. There’s orange and vanilla - Winter’s scents, his favorite shampoo - then the barely-there hint of their laundry detergent, and under all that, the smell that lulled him to sleep ever since he was 19. He didn’t realize that _this_ was what he was missing in this new century, until he finally managed to get a full night’s sleep the moment Bucky came back. Even on his marshmallow bed, even freaking out about their future - with his nose in Bucky’s neck, he slept like the dead.

He focuses again when he hears JARVIS inform, “Your turn, Agent Romanov.” Natasha is just before Bucky, and then it’s Steve's turn, so he’d better start figuring out what old-timey word he can stump Tony with.

Everyone looks to Nat and she scowls, darts forward to place her tile, then curls back up next to Clint and focuses on petting Lucky. If Steve didn’t know better, he would’ve said the tips of her ears are slightly red.

“S? That’s it, that’s your-” Tony starts, then yelps when Pepper elbows him. “I mean, sure, sure, that’s 13 points for you, _rainbow_ into _rainbows,_ plural, yes, uhm, awesome. Buckaroo?” he changes tack quickly.

Now, Steve _knows_ Bucky has good letters. He can see them on his tablet with the way they’re seated, all right? He can see Bucky’s already arranged the tiles to form _colcannon,_ probably joining into the C of Thor’s _chronicoms_ to scoop up that double letter score over there.

(Bucky’s always been incredible at words, be it writing wonderful love-letters or phrasing something just right to comfort somebody or nailing a crossword puzzle. Of _course_ he took to Scrabble like fish to water.)

Steve can feel Bucky hesitate for a moment. He sighs, then grabs the A and makes Darcy’s _typical_ into _atypical_ \- it does score him a decent 15 points, but it’s nothing like his usual performance, and everyone looks at him in surprise.

Bucky shrugs, chuckling. “Guess you can’t always have the right letters, can you?”

Steve can see Natasha looking at them sharply, like she knows something’s up, but then her face smooths out into something soft and open. She pokes Bucky’s thigh with her foot and he grins at her, then turns to Steve.

Steve knows he’s blushing furiously - damn his Irish complexion - when Bucky smiles down at him, kissing first his forehead, then his nose, then his mouth, chaste little things that nevertheless set Steve’s heart aflutter. Bucky’s smirking like the cat that got all the cream _and_ the canary to boot when he unwinds himself from Steve’s lap gracefully and goes to join Natasha in petting Lucky, immediately starting to chatter in Russian.

This is…

Steve looks around.

Tony, Bruce, Jane, Darcy and Thor are arguing about last year’s Convergence that brought the Dark Elves to London - though Steve has no idea how _that_ topic got started. Pepper and Rhodey are in the kitchen, probably making spiked hot chocolate. Clint, Natasha and Bucky - wait, no, that’s Winter, when did they switch? - are petting Lucky, who looks like he’s about to melt into a happy puddle under all the attention. They’re discussing something in Russian, Steve recognizes the word _Budapest_ and something about… disarming a bomb? No, that can’t be right, they’re way too giggly to be talking about a mission, right?

Point is: it’s Christmas, and he’s surrounded by family; a family that he never thought he’d have again after he woke up alone, 70 years into the future. The Avengers aren’t the Howlies - but Steve and Bucky aren’t who they were back in the war, either. And the easy acceptance they’ve got now, nobody batting an eye at Bucky in his lap and kissing him openly - that's something he knows not to take for granted even in this new, supposedly more liberal century.

Sure, there’s stuff to deal with - nightmares and panic attacks and simple everyday annoyances, like Bucky's dirty socks out of the hamper or Clint and Natasha traipsing through the vents or minor explosions in Jane and Bruce's lab. They need to legally bring Bucky back to life and get rid of the trigger words. The Avengers are a magnet for trouble, so sooner or later something _will_ come for them.

But. _But._

Whatever comes, they’ll beat it the way they always do. Together.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! 🙃  
>   
>   
> 


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